This Joy is Formidable
by Carinth
Summary: AU: When his adoptive parents are killed in a gas explosion, Matthew Williams is sent to live with his family in California. A biological mother, a dad who can't look Matt in the eyes, an older-half brother called Alfred who hates him. Will Matt ever be happy again? Major AmeCan bromance/brotherly bonding and minor UsUk.
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**AN: I have fallen head over heels for Hetalia as of late. It's just so fantastic. My favorites include Mattie, Alfred, and Arthur. Also Gilbert and Feli and...most of them, actually. Yep. Anyways, please let me know if anything is out of character. I really do want to get these guys IC.**

** Warnings: This fic does include OC's, but only as parents. (Mattie's parents and Alfred's.) They all play minimal roles. This fic is mainly just for angsty!Canada and CanAme brotherly love.**

Matthew Williams shifted nervously. "Don't be nervous." Mr. Edelstein had said several times. Mr. Edelstein was a late-twenties-something man with ruffled black hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Matt suspected that the man hailed from Austria or another similar country. "The Jones family is very eager to have you back."

Matt didn't respond, choosing to instead examine the scuff marks that had already started to form on his new trainers. He was dressed far more nicely than he would otherwise be comfortable with. Plain black trousers made out of some nice, expensive fabric and a white dress shirt that was tucked into his pants in an attempt to make Matthew appear more dignified. "Can't I go back?" He asked softly, with all the soft petulance of a child who had had a toy taken away from him.

"...I-" It was blatantly obvious that Mr. Edelstein didn't know what to say. Matt sighed and realized rather balefully that Mr. Edelstein was not suited for this sort of work. The silver band around his finger suggested that he was married, and Matt wondered if it was his wife who had gotten her husband this job.

"I think you'll be happy here. In America."

Matthew just sighed, inconspicuously drawing his teddy bear closer. Mr. Edelstein rolled his eyes from the front seat, and Matt couldn't blame him. It must have been strange, seeing a sixteen year old boy with a stuffed animal, but then again, it was rather hard to identify Matthew as sixteen.

He was short for his age-well, not _too _short, he was 5'8''-but at this age most boys had finally hit their growth spurts and lingered in the six-foot area. Pale blond hair that was untrimmed and untamable fell into his green-gray eyes and stuck up everywhere, including one terribly stubborn strand in his bangs that always curled upwards.

Matt was paler than most boys. Canada didn't get much sun, and he was far from athletically gifted, which meant that he didn't have the exposure to the elements that most athletes did. When not at school or on those rare trips that his 'adoptive' parents sometimes took him on, he rarely strayed outside of the vicinity of his house. It had actually been alright, though. His parents bought him top-of-the-market toys when he was younger, the best you could buy, and then when Matthew had outgrown toys, they gave him technology. His _Mere _would was a brilliant chef, particularly when it came to desserts.

_"I made a souffle before you woke up." His Mom informed him. Matthew yawned and raised a sleepy brow._

_"You did?" He said softly, a bit skeptically. "T-that's great, Mom." She had been trying master French cooking for years. _

_His mother smiled sweetly, her Japanese features crinkling in agreement. Her river of dark hair had been thrown up in a hasty, unbrushed ponytail, but despite her efforts, batter and flour ended up on her brow anyways, mingling with the streaks of silver._

_"I was going to save it for you, but it was too beautiful to live." Mei Williams held out a wooden spoon to her adopted son._

_Matthew took it from her hands and began to prepare his own batter-for pancakes rather than for an extravagant souffle. "So," he said, voice gaining a bit of confidence, though it still hardly strayed above a whisper. "You ate it then?"_

_"I did indeed." His mom nodded resolutely. "It was delicious." She leaned over the counter, then, to examine what her son's confection. "Actually, that looks like it's going to be good too. Will you save me a few?"_

_"For Dad too." Matt smiled._

_"Alright." Hummed Mom as she checked her watch. "Well, I'd best be off now. Je t'aime, ma chérie. À tout à l'heure?"_

_"Kay," sighed Matt, disappointed that his mother was leaving so soon. "Passe du bon temps." _

_"Au revoir, chérie." She reminded as she stepped out the door. "Séjour sûr," _

_"You too." _

Mei Williams had been laughing as she closed the door, the sunlight glinting off her brown eyes in a way that suddenly made them swirl with color, before going out into chilly spring sunlight. Stay safe, had been her last words to him.

Two hours later, two glorious stacks of pancakes had been awaiting his parents. One for his dad, and one for his mom, whenever the two got back. Matt's mom had been a freelance editor, mostly able to choose her own hours, and Matthew's dad had been a technological whiz. The two had been quite a pair, but it had always been obvious to Matt that they were both smitten. She'd gone to meet him at his work so they could have lunch together.

Three hours later, Matthew grew a bit irate, though he would never dare say anything.

Four hours later, Matt got the call. Gas leak. Explosion. Twelve dead, including his parents.

"_Stay safe..." _his mom had said.

Irony was a bitch, and all of a sudden, it seemed that she hated Matt with a burning passion.

The landscape was so dreary. So city-like. Nothing like the beautiful landscape that Matthew was accustomed to, and that was how Matt had guessed that they were nearly there (Mr. Edelstein had said that they lived on the outskirts of Sacramento, and they'd hit the city limits almost a mile ago). The rain outside had stopped, but rain droplets still clung to the outside of the sleek black car like burrs to a bush. The sun was still fairly high in the sky, which meant that Matt would have to tolerate strangers-even if one of them was his biological mother-trying to fill in for his parents. Of course, he'd have to deal with them at some point, but Matthew's main goal at the moment was to delay having to do so for as long as possible, which made the whole 'middle-of-the-day' thing rather inconvenient.

Matt was going to hate it there, he knew it, there was no way he was going to like it. Enjoying the two years of hell he was going to have to go through would be like betraying the memory of his parents.

And that was why, the second that Mr. Edelstein ushered him out of the car and onto the perfectly mowed lawn with a _freaking _German Shepard that ran around and tried to lick Matt, he started to hate himself, because the second that Matt saw the three people, he felt a bit of hope begin to kindle.

But then a boy, older that Matt but not by much, with bright blue eyes and glasses crossed his arms and whispered. "Jesus, Mom. That's one hell of a mistake you made."

Crap.

_Never mind._

**I imagine Matt's adopted parents as Japanese. **

**And just in case anyone wants to know (this will show up in later chapters) Alfred's mom had an affair when Al was about one and Matt was the result. She wouldn't have him aborted, so Alfred's dad insisted that they give the boy up for adoption, or he'd file for divorce. Al's mom agreed. Matt was adopted by Mei and Yin Williams. **

**If you read this, I seriously love you.**


	2. 2

**Happy Thanksgiving everyone! This chapter took way longer than I expected, and isn't as lengthy as I had hoped it would be either. Thank you all so much for reviewing. Just WOW! I never expected such a reception, especially from a fandom with so many fics populating it. I'd also like to mention that if anyone would like to give me tips for writing Alfred, I would be very receptive to it. I know that Alfred likes to be the hero, the good guy, defender-of-the weak and such, and because of that, the way I'm writing him (as the arrogant jock) is way OOC. I really do want to reflect his hero side, but the main plot revolves around Alfred and Matthew getting over their rivalry. *deep breath* So, I hope that he's a bit better this chapter, and any opinions on how Alfred is portrayed here would be totally awesome.**

Alfred's initial reaction had been horror.

He knew about the affair, of course, even though he had never exactly been told. He had just known. The topic was pretty much taboo. No one spoke about it, no one liked to think about it. It was something that had just been allowed to become background noise to the Jones' family's daily lives.

Alfred _hadn't _known that he'd had a half-brother.

When he had found out, it hadn't been pretty.

"You always wanted a brother to play hero with." His mom flashed her dimples at him. "I'm sure you'll love Matthew."

She said the name with such motherly longing that Alfred didn't know how to say '_No, screw this,' _ without reducing her to tears.

Alfred didn't respond.

"He's going to be here in a week." Alfred's back was turned so he was facing out the window, arms crossed, but his mom's voice was dimly optimistic. "I-I really do think you'll get along with Matthew, I've spoken with him on the phone. Just once. He seemed very polite."

When Alfred didn't respond a second time, his mom exhaled shortly and muttered an expletive under her breath, slamming the door behind her as she left.

He spent the next hour gloomily reflecting on the injustice of it all. His window was fogged over because of the cold and rain, and Alfred soon found himself writing curse words on the foggy window, only for them to fog over a second time.

Then he had a long, heated discussion with his friend Kiku through Skype. Kiku had tried to reason with Alfred, pointing out that Matthew was probably as unhappy with the situation as Alfred was, maybe even more so.

Of course, Alfred completely disregarded Kiku's argument, realizing that even the Kiku was, like, his best friend, he hadn't really been the best choice to have this conversation with.

Five hours later, after Alfred grew weary of expressing his grief and anger through shooting virtual people on his X-Box, he finally picked up the folder that his mom had placed on his desk moments before she had dropped the bomb.

Paper-clipped to the front of the folder was a picture of a boy who looked startlingly similar to Alfred. If it weren't for the subtle differences-this boy's hair was a much lighter shade of blond, his skin was paler than Alfred's, his eyes were a shade of hazel that looked almost violet-the two would probably be indistinguishable.

'Matthew' had the legs of his jeans rolled up to his knees, and he was sitting at the edge of a pier, legs casually hanging off the edge. There was a slight smile on his face as he regarded the middle-aged woman who was splashing around in the water.

Alfred absentmindedly noticed that the even though everyone in the picture had seemed happy, looking at it brought about a sense of foreboding that hinted at the hell to come.

"Well," Alfred crumpled up the picture and tossed it in the wastebasket angrily, resentment rising up in his chest like poison. "Hell for us both."

**Approximately One Week and Seven Hours Later**

_Gasoline is poisoning the air._

_No one notices._

_Across the street, his parents are having lunch and they're smiling and they seem oh-so-happy. _

_The typical grey clouds have drifted away, if only just for the day, and the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the sky is blue._

_A man lights his cigarette. _

_The man goes down in flame. _

_His parents are among the first to stand, starting towards the man with all the good intentions in the world, honestly wanting to help._

_The world shakes and goes out of focus and the dead man stretches his hand out, begging for help._

_The fire spreads from his fingers and burned body until the world is nothing but red hot ash and smoke._

_They die screaming._

Matthew jolted upright, brow soaked with sweat and his breathing shaky.

He stifled his sob against his pillow, bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging them tightly. The nightmares were becoming more and more vivid, different every time.

Matthew had no way of knowing exactly what had caused the explosion other than the rather obvious '_gas leak' _part of it, and his mind seemed to enjoy coming up with cruel ways to make him watch his parents burn.

It was awful.

The unfamiliar surroundings had jolted Matt a bit when he'd woken up. The nondescript blue walls were so different from his welcoming yellow ones back in Canada. The room was larger and more empty, completely nondescript. It was like culture shock on a smaller scale.

His first impressions of the room hadn't exactly been good either.

"Matthew," Mr. Edelstein had instructed. "I need to discuss...the intricacies...of your situation with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Privately."

Matt didn't say anything in response, but Mrs. Jones had piped up: "Alfred, show Matthew to his room." Then she grinned warmly at Matthew, causing the Canadian to take a discreet step back. When he'd first arrived, she'd pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, as if they were best friends.

The rude boy (Alfred, apparently) rolled his eyes and stalked up the stairs, which Matthew took as his cue to follow.

It had been mortifyingly awkward. Alfred hadn't even offered to help carry his bags (one rather heavy suitcase and a bulky backpack), and Matthew had tripped over the boy's conveniently outstretched leg when he'd tried to enter his room.

Matt could feel the bruising on his knees and on his chin right away-he'd fallen and he fell hard-and he knew that it was going to hurt like hell later. He'd opened his mouth to make a heated, rude comment, but stopped before he did.

He wasn't being fair. Alfred was probably more upset by the situation than Matt was (Matthew could see himself acting the same way, if he were in Alfred's shoes).

Or maybe Alfred hadn't really meant to trip Matthew, maybe it was just an accident.

"Sorry," murmured Matt, glancing at the ground.

"Huh?" Alfred sounded rather stunned, as if he had been expecting the Canadian to go to blows over a silly little accident like that.

Matt had given a small apologetic smile. "Yeah," he said softly. "You're okay, right?"

"I'm fine," said Alfred, a bit harshly.

"Oh, oka-" The door had slammed behind the American as he left, cutting Matthew off mid-word.

The family had been surprisingly generous in giving Matt time to adjust, except for Mrs. Jones popping in to talk about how excited she was to have him here and how he could have as much time as he wanted to settle in.

His dinner had been brought up to him when he had declined the offer to go down and eat with them. Matthew didn't have the heart to tell Mrs. Jones that he was a vegetarian and fed the steak to the German Shepard while nobody was looking-Jesus Christ, what a terrifying creature-and the dog had tried to bite off a couple of Matt's fingers in it's desperation to get to the meat.

Stress and nightmares had caused a couple of rather painful knots to make themselves known at some point during the night. Massaging his neck tiredly, Matthew dressed in his spare change of clothes, feeling thankful that it was Friday and that Mrs. Jones had promised to take him out shopping over the weekend.

Matt sighed as he headed down to the kitchen, snagging a tangerine from the bowl of fruit that was laid out in the center of the dining table. He peeled it nostalgically, remembering how both he and his mom would play with the little sections of the fruit until his dad would try and force them to eat it.

Somehow, those situations had always ended with whipping cream everywhere, the tangerines having been discarded of and forgotten about.

He missed them so much.

**Yes. Kinda sucky ending for the chapter, but for any USUK fans, there should be some interaction between those two next chapter, as well as some interaction between France and Canada. (But it's more friendship than pre-slash for Matthew and Francis, but they still get to meet each other. Yay!)**


	3. 3

**Wow! This chapter took longer than I expected. I've received so many great reviews and I'm just amazed by the reception to this story, so thanks! I hope that this chapter isn't a total fail, I kind of feel like it was.**

**Also, I'd like to thank the anonymous reviewers, who I can't reply too. You guys are brilliant too!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, the sheer amount of AU storylines would overwhelm you all. And they'd kind of suck. So it's a good thing that I don't own it.**

Matthew smiled hesitantly at the boy behind at the counter. Mrs. Jones had been talking animatedly about the all the clothes that she thought would look good on him, clapping her hands together in delight every time she saw something new, but, being the intuitive woman she was, Amelia Jones could tell difference between someone being genuine, and someone being polite, and so she'd insisted on getting some assistance. "I don't want you to be unhappy." She'd said, jaw set.

"Do you need any help?" The boy behind the counter asked in a distinctive French accent-he had brilliant blue eyes and somewhat longer hair than you would expect to see on a boy. "My name is Francis."

"I-I..." Matthew stuttered hopelessly. "Matthew. I'm Matthew."

"Ah, very well then, Matthew. What are you looking for?" Matthew tried to stutter out a reply, but gave up when Francis finally just reached into the rack and pulled out a simple t-shirt.

Francis held up the shirt and glanced at Matthew. "The color suits you." The Frenchman decided, evaluating the light purple fabric critically. "It will bring out your eyes." Mrs. Jones made a noise of approval.

The next shirt that Francis picked out was white with a red maple leaf in the center, which had made Matthew smile genuinely for the first time since he'd arrived in the states. Francis immediately complimented Matt on his lovely smile, which caused the smile to disappear and be replaced by lots of shy stuttering. At some point (probably by the time that Francis helped Matthew choose a dark green hoodie) Matt stopped trying to interject his opinion and just nodded slightly whenever Francis asked his opinion.

Matthew hadn't wanted to take all of it, maybe a pair of shoes and one or two changes of clothes, but Mrs. Jones had just grinned reassuringly and paid for all nine shirts, three pairs of converse, six pairs of pants, three jackets, and a wrist watch with her debit card.

"How about lunch?" said Mrs. Jones perkily.

"I'm not hungry," Matt muttered.

"Of course you are." She said it in a _Don't you dare lie to me _sort of voice, so Matthew figured that the best course of action that he could take was just to stay silent. "How about burgers, there's a place just down the-"

"I'm a vegetarian," he blurted suddenly, then sank down into his seat, realizing how rude he must have sounded. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" Mrs. Jones elbowed him playfully, "It was my mistake. We'll just go to this awesome Italian restaurant down the street."

Matt smiled hesitantly, unsure how he should react to this generosity. That was how his mom was supposed to act...and Mrs. Jones? Mrs. Jones may have given birth to him, but she wasn't really his mother-she could never take the place of the woman who had raised him.

Could she?

"Poor boy," said Arthur Kirkland, upon hearing Matthew Williams' dramatized tale of woe from his (sort of) friend Alfred Jones.

"_No," _disagreed Alfred, miffed that Arthur wasn't siding with him. "He's...he's a homewrecker."

The Brit huffed. "You idiot, that's not what a homewrecker is." His dark green eyes softened. "Have some compassion. The boy _is _your half-brother after all. His parents _just _died. I can't imagine what he's going through."

Alfred punched Arthur in the arm, which nearly caused the smaller of the two to topple over. "Dude, sorry." The American grinned sheepishly. "And I suppose...it's not like he's a jerk or anything. I might even want to be friends with him if the situation were different."

"You bloody twat," Arthur reprimanded as he took a sip of tea from his canteen.

"But for some reason I just can't stand being around him." Alfred finished.

"You aren't being reasonable." Arthur sighed, much to his friend's disappointment, and stuffed his binder into his bag. "We should get to class. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Why?"

"Our English project," reminded Arthur with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Right. Your house or mine?"

Arthur's lips pursed and his eyes darkened slightly. "Yours, _obviously_."

"Fine," Alfred sighed. "But I've only been to your house once, and your brothers weren't home then. I'd like to meet them."

Arthur chuckled dryly. "Trust me, you wouldn't."

Alfred and Arthur made idle chat as they walked over to Alfred's house-or perhaps, more accurately, Arthur walked and cussed at Alfred a bit because _Dammit, it isn't safe to ride a bike and talk on the phone at the same time._

"But it's Kiku, I can't hang up on him." Alfred grinned. "Stop fussing." And then he rode his bike into a tree, and Arthur picked up Alfred's phone and apologized to the Japanese transfer student, before making sure that Alfred was perfectly alright.

After triple-checking that Alfred was unhurt (because despite what others may claim, once you got past his rough exterior, the Brit was a total softie. Even if he would castrate anyone who said that) Arthur let himself break into laughter.

"Well then," Alfred said huffily, but he was smiling good naturedly. He grabbed his bikes handlebars and dumped it in front of his garage, inserting his key into the lock and slamming the front door open.

"Guess they're not home. Mom must be out getting groceries or something with _Matthew." _

Arthur frowned at his friend's tone, before spreading the rolled up poster out flat on the table.

They had just started discussing their plans when Alfred's mom and Matthew came home.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Jones swept in, wrapping her arms around the British boy. "I didn't know you were coming over today."

"I had an assignment with Alfred. I'm not intruding, am I?"

"Absolutely not, you're always welcome here. Matthew!" She beckoned to someone in the other room.

Alfred groaned.

A boy Arthur's height walked into the room, setting some groceries down on the table. (The Brit was delighted to find that the boy wasn't unnaturally tall, like his brother. And most boys.)

Arthur stood to shake Matthew's hand, and Alfred was struck by the realization that the two were actually quite similar.

They didn't look alike, not in the least (with the exception of height, they were both so short) but Matthew, much like Arthur, had the aura of someone gentle and unaccustomed to hardship. Of course, with Arthur, this was just an illusion. Granted, there were a lot of things that Arthur was quite naive about, but otherwise, the Brit was rather tough.

"Hi." Matthew nodded nervously at the emerald eyed boy.

Arthur clapped Matt on the back like they were old friends. "Hello."

"Whatever," Alfred said, setting his jaw and deciding to ignore Matthew completely. "Mom, Arthur and I have a project we need to work on."

Arthur raised his (thick, bushy, monstrous) eyebrows at Alfred, frowning and muttering words like: "Prat, rude, idiot, never seen him act like this, tea," and "bloody wanker."

The boisterous American decided to ignore his friend and barreled on. "So can we please have some alone time?"

"You're in the _living room." _Mrs. Jones sounded disappointed with her son, smiling through gritted teeth. "What's the project about?"

"Nothing, really...just some stuff about this writer dude."

"Edgar Allen Poe." Arthur interjected helpfully as he tilted his chair back so it stood on just two legs.

Mrs. Jones smiled. "You know what, Matthew and I were _just _having a conversation about classic literature..."

The two boys glanced over at Matthew, who had just gotten comfortable now that he didn't have to say anything and was feeling content to just watch. The Canadian's comfort diminished, wasting away under the sudden spotlight.

"-maybe Matthew could give you guys a hand." She finished. Alfred blinked at her, not quite processing how they'd gotten from 'a conversation about English literature' to 'maybe Matthew could _help-you-freaking-out'_

"I dunno..." Alfred started, before being interrupted by Arthur, who was moments away from starting a patronizing lecture on manners directed to his American friend.

"That sounds brilliant, Mrs. Jones. We could use all the help we can get." He finished it off with a cheeky grin and a bemused glance in Alfred's direction, because Alfred had crossed his arms and was muttering under his breath like a child who'd gotten his hand swatted when reaching for a second piece of candy.

"Great!" said Mrs. Jones, bending down to ruffle Alfred's hair. "Well," she sighed, checking her watch. "I should start dinner. If you need me I'll be in the kitchen."

The second she left the room, Arthur whacked Alfred in the arm. Hard.

"Ouch!"

"Wanker."

Much to the Alfred's irritation, Arthur took to Matthew instantly. In fact, Alfred just slouched down on the couch with a disgruntled expression on his face, while Arthur and Matthew chattered on about their favorite Edgar Allen Poe stories. (It seemed that Arthur favored _The Raven _and _The Masque of the Red Death, _while Matthew was more fond of stories like _Murders in Rue Morgue _and _The Oval Portrait_)

Alright, to be sure, it was less 'chatter' and more Arthur continuously trying to start a conversation with Matthew until the Canadian boy had no choice but to open up and talk a little more (though not a lot).

"So." Alfred asked loudly at one point. "How did your parents die?"

Arthur glared furiously at his American friend, giving him a look that said _I'll kill you later. _

Even from the other room, Mrs. Jones, who'd been happily chopping some lettuce for her salad, froze and wondered if she should go out and intervene.

Luckily, Matthew just paused, and looked up at Alfred in surprise from his seat down on the floor.

"How did they die?" His voice never, ever rose above that peaceful, questioning whisper that Arthur (being the big ol' softie that he was) probably found absolutely endearing.

"Yeah." Alfred nodded, deciding to play innocent and act like he didn't know that it was very, very cruel of him to ask that. (Arthur's dark gaze suggested that he already knew and Alfred felt a pang of fear.)

"Oh." Matthew swallowed thickly. "They were out for lunch...there was an explosion, it's not really that..." his voice cracked a bit and Alfred suddenly felt very guilty. It wasn't very heroic of him to pick at such a fresh wound in Matthew's subconscious, and as anyone who knew Alfred (even just a little bit) could testify, Alfred _loved _being the hero, and he _hated _bullies.

"Shut up, Alfred." Arthur said, frowning. "That was a horrible thing to ask."

Matthew put a hand on Arthur's shoulder for half a second. "It's fine, Arthur. But can we maybe not talk about it anymore?"

Mrs. Jones frowned, chopping vegetables absentmindedly and nearly cutting her finger off in the process.

Alfred and Matthew needed to bond. And she knew just how to make it happen.


End file.
